


Mirror Dance

by calvinahobbes



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (2011)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, D/s, F/M, body alteration/injury, kinky not-porn, mild self-mutilation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calvinahobbes/pseuds/calvinahobbes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the "mirrors and doubles" square, for Kink Bingo.</p><p>No PLOT spoilers for the movie; spoilers for events in the film.</p><p>Unbeta'd. Comments and criticism always appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Mirror Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "mirrors and doubles" square, for Kink Bingo.
> 
> No PLOT spoilers for the movie; spoilers for events in the film.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Comments and criticism always appreciated.

Being Jack Sparrow had made her feel a sense of power. She had taken joy in wearing the clothes that looked like his, in copying the gestures she had learned from him. The more people fell for her charade, the more Angelica had felt a sense of pride at her success — even if they had none of them ever actually seen the real Jack Sparrow. When even Jack himself had complimented her act, she had felt that she had truly managed to get it right.

It felt strange to put the clothes on now, with such a different purpose. When she had worn them last, it had been for practical reasons. She had needed a crew, and Jack Sparrow could procure one much faster than she, a woman and a foreigner, would ever have been able to. Perhaps she had enjoyed playing the part, but she had only played it out of necessity.

Now they were a fortnight out at sea, and Jack had not stopped pleading with her for a day to repeat her performance. He had charmed and cajoled and begged on his knees, but she had stayed firm.

And yet here she was, slowly but surely getting back into that well-known attire, for absolutely no practical purpose at all. She was certainly not nervous. She tightened the sash about her waist, shrugged into the coat. It settled snugly around her shoulders, like an old friend. She carefully slipped the wig over her own tightly pulled-back hair — the wig she had paid a man in Naples an exorbitant price to create to her detailed specifications and had afterwards spent hours of her own time braiding beads into. She leaned towards the small mirror on the cabin wall, brushed the kohl around her eyes. Her heart was beginning to beat, if not faster then more emphatically, as the outfit came together before her eyes.

She removed the lid from the small jar, swept the thin brush through the glue, and delicately drew two exact lines along her upper lip. The brush was soft, and the glue felt cold. She dabbed a small amount just below her bottom lip in the indent above her chin. Her skin began to prickle as the glue began to dry. Quickly she fastened the small strips of fake beard to her face, holding them in place while they settled. She reared back from the mirror slightly, and the motion felt alien and familiar at the same time. She met her own eyes in the glass, but the face staring back at her was not her own. The figure in the glass donned the hat with a flourish and winked.

Jack was waiting in the middle of the room, his back turned, his foot tapping impatiently. The line of his back looked tense, shoulders coiled with restless energy. He had not wished to bear witness to the transformation, and she thought she understood. Whatever this was for him, it was not about her at all. Jack was a singularly narcissistic creature, and she was nothing but a means to an end — a convenient canvas for him to paint his dreams and desires onto.

The heels of her boots clacked dully against the raw planks of the floor, and he turned in a whirl of motion, coming to a complete stop at the sight of her. She thought she heard him draw in a breath, but she couldn't be sure. A strange sucking sensation took residence in the pit of her stomach. She waited while he took in the sight of her, his dark eyes travelling up and down the length of her. For the longest time his face was completely expressionless, his eyes the only moving part of his usually so vibrant body.

Then his face contorted in a smirk, and for a flash of a moment she was transported back in time to that day in the convent. Then he walked towards her, and she was back in the present. "My, aren't you a handsome fella," he grinned. Stretching his legs, he stalked around her in slow motion. When he disappeared out the corner of her eye, a wave of gooseflesh erupted all down her side, pin pricks tickling her cheeks and scalp.

As he came round her other side and stood once again in front of her, he reached out to touch the wig. "I have a coin here," he said, tugging a dreadlock lightly so she felt the wig scratch against her head.

"You didn't when I last saw you. Anyway, I had to recreate it all from memory." She tipped her head back a little, in a defiant gesture. She knew it was a good disguise — she could have fooled his old father in these clothes.

Jack grinned at her. "Aye, and what a thorough job it seems you've done, committing me to memory."

She didn't answer, and he transferred his attention to her clothes. Putting his left hand on her shoulder, he curled his right hand around his own left shoulder, stroking his fingers along the fabrics as if to compare them. He patted her there, and his right hand mirrored the action, but she didn't think he was conscious of it. He slid his hand along her clavicle, dipped a finger down the vee of her shirt and drew the cloth away from her body, peeking down with a laughable expression of doubt and interest on his face. She had bound her breasts, and she couldn't tell whether he was relieved or disappointed — knowing Jack it was probably a bit of both.

His coarse fingers slipped free of her shirt and travelled downwards, slipping down her arm until he reached her wrist. He lifted her arm, very gently and drew the sleeve back. He studied the pale skin there, and she realized with a rush that it was the place his own Pirate stigma marred his arm. His thumb swept back and forth across her flesh, and for a time he seemed lost in thought. He was still young and strong, but her version of him must seem even younger, as if he was facing himself from a time before jail and hangings and mutiny.

His eyes returned to her face, and he let go, taking a small step back. There was something dark in his gaze now, and she worried that he would leave or ask her to take the clothes off. She wasn't ready yet, still had so much she wanted to show him she could do. Thinking quickly, she copied his step, only slightly out of synch with his own movement. He stilled and gazed at her. Then he gestured with his right arm, drawing it in a small arc from his body. She copied him again, sweeping out her left arm, taking care to give her wrist the proper flick.

He took another step away from her, and this time her movements managed to be nearly synchronous with his. Her heart skipped a beat. His gaze bore in to hers. He crossed one foot behind the other, slowly, and she followed. He did it again, and again, and each time the movement felt slightly faster. She felt her gaze slide out of focus as she concentrated on sensing his moves almost before he had begun them, felt her knees growing springier, her center of gravity shifting.

He spun around, and she did the same. They moved back and forth across the cabin floor like a complicated dance, and she felt herself slipping further and further away, one consciousness drawing back in order to let a different kind of awareness take over.

Her lungs felt heavy, her body felt overheated, but she wasn't sweating. When they came towards each other again, she could see Jack's mouth hanging open slightly, his breath puffing out in small rapid gusts, two points of color high on his cheeks. Her mouth fell open of its own accord, and she thought she even felt a mirror blush breaking out on her own face. Their eyelids lowered heavily. Their breath was entirely in synch. They leaned, and she felt the air from their mouths mingle. She wet her lips, and Jack did the same. Her eyes widened, and she reared back. Jack's eyes widened, and he reared back.

They both stood stock still for a moment. Then she reached out slowly, putting her hand to the brim of her hat. Jack's hand did the same, but even more slowly, like it was stroking through salt water. She stepped back, seeing her gesture perfectly mirrored in him. She bowed, keeping her hat in place, other arm sweeping out like he would do, and her gaze locked on Jack. He copied her, perfectly copying him.

Her pulse was racing, and she could see the vein in Jack's neck throb in shared excitement. She was still entranced by the moment between them, but she saw the wrecked look on Jack's face, and although she felt her own face contorted similarly, she knew he had given control over to her. She smirked, and he gave a short nasal whine before he could stop himself. She shook her head, slowly, and watched in fascination as he followed her, closing his mouth with a gulp. Their actions were so close together, the illusion was nearly perfect.

Keeping her eyes firmly on his face, she brought her arm out in front of her. Jack was watching her avidly, his eyes darker than she had ever seen them, his breath coming as fast as if he had been running. She flicked the sleeve of her shirt back from her arm again, and Jack's panting was nearly a voiced thing as he did the same. The white scarring stood out stark against his dark skin, and she took in the sight of it. His gaze felt heavy on her skin. She a finger to her arm and felt a sweeping sensation of excitement when Jack followed her motion without hesitation. Letting the nail of her finger dig in to the skin, she waited for Jack to meet her gaze, saw his nostrils flare. She could feel his heart beat. She looked back at his hand, poised firmly at the top of the mark. She scratched her fingernail hard downwards.

Jack gave a momentous cry and stumbled away from her, tripping over his own feet and crashing to the floor by her bed. Instantly, the spell was lifted. She distantly felt herself crash in a similar manner. Everything she had just done felt far away and strange — like it was all a dream she had had, about someone else. She crouched next to Jack, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Too much?"

His panting breath sounded different now, less strained, clearly relieved. He sighed deeply, his head lolling in an approximation of a nod — or maybe a denouement. "Just... a smidge," he held up his hands, thumb and index finger a little a part, "too much."

She sat down next to him, feeling him lean his full weight against her side, and put an arm around his waist. Her knees felt rubbery now. The pale red line on her arm stung slightly. Her head still felt empty, or as if it was too big on the inside. Jack snuffled into her neck, nuzzling the coarse hair of the wig and heaved a great sigh. She patted him on the cheek and felt him smile. She felt an answering grin erupt on her own face.


End file.
